Chapter Seven
LIVIA
My heart slams against my ribs the entire elevator ride down to the lobby.
I clutch the folder to my chest like it might shield me from the memory of Valentino bending down to pick up that photograph.
His hand had moved so quickly. Too quickly. For one terrible second I thought he might turn the image over and study Nico’s face under the harsh overhead lights.
I had nearly tripped over my own feet lunging to snatch it back. My fingers still feel shaky from the grab. He handed it over without a word, but his eyes had lingered on mine. That stillness in him had deepened into something I couldn't read.
He still doesn’t remember me from Venice, although a part of me keeps expecting it.
In fear or anticipation, I'm not sure anymore.
He has no idea the quiet little boy in the photo is a product of that night and is his spitting reflection.
I need to keep it that way for now.
The late afternoon air outside Ferretti Global Risk hits me cool and sharp. I pull out my phone and text Piper while I walk toward the subway.
Emergency best friend debrief. Your place or mine? Nico is with the neighbor’s teenager until seven.
Her reply comes in seconds. My place. I have wine and zero judgment. Get here.
I take the train north, mind racing the whole way. By the time I reach Piper’s apartment in Chelsea I have rehearsed ten different versions of the conversation and discarded them all.
She opens the door before I finish knocking, already in her silk robe and full makeup even though it is barely six o’clock. That’s Piper. Always ready for whatever chaos the day decides to throw.
She's been out at some meeting all day, hence why Nico isn't with her right now.
“Spill,” she says, pulling me inside. “You look like you saw the ghost of Christmas Future and he was hot but terrifying.”
I drop my bag on her couch and sink into it. The apartment smells like expensive candles and the Thai food she clearly ordered for us. “He saw the picture of Nico.”
Piper freezes halfway to the kitchen. “Define saw.”
“He picked it up off the floor. Stared at it. I grabbed it back so fast I almost fell. Piper, his eyes went so still. Like the whole world narrowed to that one photo.”
She brings two glasses of red wine and hands me one before sitting cross-legged on the opposite end of the couch. “Did he say anything? Ask who the kid is?”
“No. But he looked. Really looked.” I take a long sip and let the wine warm the cold knot in my stomach.
“This is bad. The retreat invitation came today. Ten days in Hudson Valley. Mandatory. I told him I can’t go because of Nico and he did the whole powerful-man thing. Arrangements can be made. As if money fixes bedtime stories and morning cuddles.”
Piper’s eyebrows climb. “Ten days? That’s a lot. But Liv, you need this job. You said the pay could actually get you out from under that medical debt and the late rent. You cannot afford to lose it.”
“I know.” I set the glass down and rub my temples. “He said Ferretti Global would cover childcare and travel. I told him powerful men always think arrangements solve everything. He did not like that.”
She grins. “I bet he didn’t. That man is used to everyone falling in line. Especially women.”
I remember the way Valentino stepped closer in the conference room, the way the air between us had thickened until I could smell his cologne again.
Wood and spice. The same scent that haunted me for weeks after Venice. My body had reacted without permission, a small shiver I hoped he did not notice.
I hate how easily he still affects me.
Piper leans forward. “You have to tell him the truth. About Nico. About Venice. Before this explodes in your face.”
The suggestion lands like ice water. “I can’t.”
“Why? Because he’s your boss now? Because he’s scary competent? Liv, you had a one-night stand five years ago. You got pregnant. You ran. He has a right to know he has a son.”
I shake my head hard. “You don’t understand what’s at stake. Dante has been texting again. Every few days now. He heard I took the job at Ferretti and he’s furious. He wants me back under his roof.
“He keeps saying Nico needs a stronger family structure. Stronger meaning De Luca control. If he finds out Valentino is the father, he will weaponize both of them. He will try to take Nico. Or use him as leverage against Valentino’s company. Dante does not lose. Ever.”
Piper listens with the focused attention she usually reserves for clients whose galas are collapsing in real time.
“Hiding a secret from a man who runs a security company may not be a sustainable life strategy. He finds things out, Liv. That is literally his entire business.”
The truth of her words settles heavy in my chest. I think about the quiet way Valentino watches everything.
The way he noticed my reaction when he leaned over my desk yesterday. He misses nothing.
How long can I really keep Nico hidden from him when we will be living on the same estate for ten days?
I finish my wine and stand up to pace. “I will only agree to the retreat if Nico can come with me. And if you can be nearby. I need someone I trust close by.”
Piper’s face lights up with that dangerous combination of mischief and loyalty I have relied on since college. “Funny you should say that. I’m already booked at the same Hudson Valley estate that week.
“My client is throwing an enormous gala for some tech heiress turning thirty. The event overlaps with your retreat dates. I will be on site handling everything from flower deliveries to drunk uncles. I can be your emergency escape hatch.”
Relief washes through me so strongly my knees feel weak. “Really?”
“Really. And get this.” Her expression shifts into visible irritation. She stands up and starts gesturing with her glass. “The Aurelius Consortium hired this reputation consultant to oversee the whole thing.
“Some insufferable lawyer with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and a God complex the size of Manhattan. Dominic Calder. He rejected my initial catering proposal for the gala. Said it lacked strategic elegance or whatever nonsense he likes to spout. I had to redo the entire concept because Mr. Perfect Suit thinks he knows events better than I do.”
She shakes her head. “We’re going to clash. I can already feel it.”
I smile despite everything. Piper in full protective mode is a force of nature. “Sounds like he might finally meet his match.”
“He wishes.” She refills both our glasses. “But back to you. You tell Valentino about Nico before the retreat or during it. Rip the Band-Aid off. He might surprise you. Men like him have resources. Protection. If Dante comes for you, Valentino could actually keep you both safe.”
The idea tempts me more than I want to admit. For five years I have carried this secret alone.
I built a life for Nico with sheer stubbornness and late nights and sheer terror of my father’s reach.
The thought of sharing that burden with someone who commands rooms by going still is dangerously attractive. But trust is a luxury I lost the night I ran from Venice.
“I’ll think about it,” I say finally. “But I need to get through the next few weeks first. Survive the prep. Keep Dante at bay. Make sure Nico stays happy and unaware that his mother is quietly trying not to lose her shit every single day.”
We talk for another hour. Piper orders more food and makes me eat. She sketches out ideas for how we could coordinate at the estate.
She even suggests a discreet background check on Dominic Calder just to annoy him. By the time I leave to pick up Nico my shoulders feel marginally lighter.
The subway ride home is crowded and warm. I hold the strap and stare at my reflection in the dark window. I look tired but determined.
When I finally reach our small apartment Nico is already in his pajamas, clutching his favorite toy car. The red one from the photo. He runs to me and wraps his arms around my legs.
“Mama! We built a racetrack with blocks. It had a loop.”
I scoop him up and breathe in his shampoo scent. “That sounds amazing, baby. Tell me everything.”
He chatters while I make dinner. Simple pasta with the sauce he likes. I listen to every word and try to memorize the way his eyes light up when he describes the loop.
Valentino’s eyes.
The same watchful intelligence even at four years old. My chest aches with the weight of the secret.
After dinner, Nico insists I sit on the floor while he demonstrates the racetrack again using couch cushions and cereal boxes.
“This part is the tunnel,” he explains seriously, pushing the little red car through a gap beneath the coffee table. “And this is where the crash happened, but nobody died because they had seatbelts.”
“Excellent safety regulations,” I say.
He beams at me.
I smile back, but my mind keeps drifting.
Back to Valentino’s face when he picked up the photograph.
Back to that awful flicker of recognition I thought I saw before it disappeared behind that controlled expression.
Nico drives the car over my bare foot. “Mama. You’re not paying attention.”
“Sorry, baby.” I reach out and tug him into my lap. “Long day.”
His small body melts easily against mine, warm and trusting. “Did your boss yell at you?”
I huff out a laugh. “No. He just likes telling people what to do.”
Nico considers this deeply. “Like Ms. Hernandez at preschool.”
“Exactly like Ms. Hernandez at preschool.”
Satisfied with the comparison, he climbs down and resumes rebuilding the track.
Later, after bath time and three stories and one very intense debate about whether sharks could survive in space, I finally tuck him into bed.
His curls are still damp from the bath. He smells like soap and strawberries.
“Mama?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you sad?”
The question catches me off guard.
I sit carefully on the edge of his bed. “Why do you think that?”
“You do this thing.” He presses his tiny eyebrows together in imitation of my stress face. “Like this.”
Despite myself, I laugh softly.
Then my throat tightens.
Because children notice everything. Even the things you kill yourself trying to hide.
“I’m okay,” I tell him gently. “Just tired.”
He studies me another second like he is deciding whether to believe me.
Then he reaches for my hand and pats it. “You need sleep too.”
God.
I lean down and kiss his forehead. “I love you more than anything in the whole world.”
“I love you more than monster trucks,” he replies sleepily.
“That’s serious.”
“The most serious.”
I switch off the lamp once his eyes drift closed.
The apartment falls quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic outside.
I clean the kitchen slowly to burn off nervous energy.
Wash plates.
Wipe counters.
Check the lock twice.
Then, I sit at the tiny kitchen table with my laptop.
I open the revised profiles and keep working. The words flow easier now. Protecting the private lives behind public fortunes. I think about Nico’s small hands holding that toy car and I write with more conviction.
My phone buzzes on the table. A text from Dante.
I hear you took a job with Ferretti. Poor choice, sweetheart. Come home before you embarrass yourself.
The fear hits first. Sharp and familiar. Then something else rises underneath it. Harder. Sharper. Determination. I have spent five years building a life away from his control.
I will not crawl back now. Not when Nico deserves better. Not when I am finally standing on my own feet even if those feet are currently shaking.
I delete the message without replying. My hands are steady when I close the laptop and walk to Nico’s room. I watch him sleep for a long time, the nightlight casting soft shadows across his peaceful face.
Whatever comes next at that Hudson Valley estate, I’ll face it. For him. For us.
Even if it means standing toe to toe with Valentino Ferretti and the truth I’ve hidden for so long.